Disappointment
by Lonerofthepack
Summary: Shen, recently banished, approaches China's most notorious Master of Kung Fu.


_A/N: Hm, trying this fandom on for size. Usually, I lurk around the edges of fanfiction, but I love these two, particularly Tai Lung. Set three-ish years after Tai Lung was shipped off to prison, and, since I'm far more willing to trust the timeline of the thing to the lovely Domenic, about thirteen years afte Shen's banishment._

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><p><strong>Disappointment<strong>

"I can have you freed." The sibilant voice echoed softly, and oddly, through the chasm, chased by the rustle of feathers against silk. "Give you an opportunity to take your revenge." Steel clicked seductively against stone, a little chime that was infinitely sweeter than the rasp of blade against whetstone.

Silence rang clear as the Heir waited. He was a brilliant white spot in the gloom, an ethereal figure here in Hell. Lambent golden orange eyes opened briefly, took in the sight. Closed again, shortly thereafter, as though the brightness burned.

"No." the sound was a sigh from deep within the turtle-shaped structure that was the true prison in these walls.

"No?" there was a note of surprise now, drawing the vowel out an extra beat. "You are…refusing?" there was an ugliness now, beneath the pleasant drawl, one that spoke of _consequences_.

"I am refusing." This voice was deeper, a hoarse rasp, the words slow, as their existence required more oxygen and deeper breaths, and if the bindings round the captive's chest got any tighter his resolve would very likely crumble.

Now the bird spluttered, his voice edged now with sharp anger as he demanded the reasoning for such a decision, spewed threats of retaliation.

"Call it…acknowledgement, of someone who saw the darkness, but failed to foresee the action precipitated by the darkness."

Old panic tried to rise in the deep barrel chest, as it always did at the thought of home, of the ability to move and see and _think_ at will. He'd fought his bindings until movement was impossible, until even breathing ached, and his chi was stoppered like a bottle of sour wine, trapping it within until he thought his fur crawled with tiny burning insects. It had taken most of the last years to reach a place beyond, to be able to calm himself enough to reach this place of clarity, however briefly before being tossed back into the horrors of his situation. It was that part that allowed remorse, sorrow, disgust for what he'd done.

It was the other part, the part of him that knew to the minute how long he'd spent here, that frothed with the need to cause equal pain and terror in the ones that had sent him here, that would do anything, give anything, be anything to escape, that he throttled back. It was that part that was held only by thread-thin ties of what Oogway would call 'inner peace'.

"How disgustingly maudlin. You disappoint me, Tai Lung."

It was a tiny snap, a soft little pinprick within the leopard, but a distinct point in itself.

A chuckle, deep and dark and very low, managed to rise, growing quickly louder until he all but roared with laughter. It rang up the walls of the cavern, moving beyond eerie and into the realm of spine-chilling as it echoed a thousand-fold through the keep. Rhinos, battle-hardened and -ready, shuddered under their heavy skins and armor, gripped weapons more tightly, chilled to the bone by it. Wolves, lurking in the corners, and beyond the doors, fought back fearful whines. Their leader shivered slightly, the fur along his spine rising.

The peace had been lost, flung to the abyss. "I disappoint you, Prince? You think, honestly, of all the people whose disappointment I hold that _yours_ is the one I hold deepest?"

"Clearly," the peacock's voice was disdainful, though Tai Lung could scent his fear through the bravado, "you have lost your wits, Kung Fu Master." Another prick, sharper this time, reminding again of everything he'd held, and lost, with the pronouncement of one fault.

"I shall take my leave, as you obviously have gone mad here." He turned to go, metal claws chiming gently.

"Shen." The voice was wiped of any amusement, dark or otherwise, and had returned to its usual rasp. Unable to help himself, the Heir turned, met the blazing gold-orange orbs that burned through the darkness. "Return in another year. I will accept your offer then."

Now the bird sniffed softly, a well-bred huff of disdain. "You've lost your chance, cat. I leave you to your fate."

And away he walked, cool satisfaction warring with irritation in red eyes, while roars and snarls echoed behind him.

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><p><em>AN: Well, there's my interpretation, in any case. If we choose to allow our suspensions of disbelief to remain intact, it doesn't make sense that Shen, recently banished, wouldn't attempt to recruit the most notorious Kung Fu Master/criminal China had ever seen, does it? Even with the cannons, couldn't hurt, right? And the fact that Tai Lung clearly wasn't recruited, one has to assume he rejected Shen's offer._

_Again, major thanks to Domenic, for clearing up the timing for me._


End file.
